Rynth: Four Beats

| 7th of Teryusin — Year 362 of the Cycle of Synthesis, Grand Cycle ??? |

“Well, for starters…”

Raoul took a hefty sip of his tea, combing through what he knew of the cult from before their recent encounter. There were quite a few mentions of their existence and works in the local news—most of which relegated them to a ‘harmless bunch’ that wouldn’t be more than the front page on Manlifaxan news. He didn’t pay much attention to their exploits, either.

He coughed, clearing his throat.“How did they come to be?”

Teyrhar raised a hand and stood up, pacing over to a nearby glass-faced cupboard a few steps from the front foyer and retrieving a small handful of newspapers, which he then cursorily laid out on the coffee table in front of the Batan. They all reached over to take a sheet and began perusing through the contents. Skimming through the week’s edition of mundane things—dogs juggling in the park, Estof’s statue getting a new coat of paint, the upcoming Founder’s Recognition holiday on the tenth of Teryusin—a strange commonality between the issues with Misericorde plastered were the downplaying of the cult’s recent activities. Corporate propaganda aside, even labeling a recent takeover of a city in Pesdavil as ‘inconsequential’ was especially excessive.

Raoul held the latest copy of the edition. Its front page was about the most the wider media had taken to acknowledging the cult. An entire quarter of it had been cut away to stage a shaded box punctuated in the center with a white question mark. Below it, the headline read, ‘Misericorde: A Growing Threat?’, going on in great length about speculations in regards to the cult leader’s identity. A nothingburger, of course, with much of it being pure conjecture and guesswork from inexperienced anchors...and oddly enough, a stretch of text likening the cult to a stray dog.

Towards the end of the page a single line caught his attention. We have reason to believe Misericorde originated in the Land of Spirits, as that is where the first instances of activity were traced back to.

“A great deal of information remains in the dark, unfortunately,” commented Teyrhar, shaking his head. “But it is estimated that the cult of Misericorde first came to be in the eastern continent of Pesdavil, doubly known as the ‘Land of Spirits’, and that its leader brought their influence into Manlifax a few years ago.”

He continued. “Activity has been on the rise ever since. It started off small, no more than a few holdups in minor travel routes. But they’ve been rising in both numbers and gall. Entire hostile takeovers of minor villages and even some of the smaller, weaker cities have been occurring more frequently. The attack on Kilaantin was only minor.”

“The cultists mentioned the ‘Six-Winged’ earlier,” Avil raised. “That’s Aevalin Xerxes, the God of Time, right?”

“Correct. He is both their object of devotion and the prime mover, and said to be directing the movements of the cult’s leader himself. It is still unknown what his main goal is, but as unidentified and esoteric it might be, there is no doubt the cult’s actions have wrought great harm on people around the world. Strange as it may be, their numbers have been growing in the last few years. More and more seem to flock to their cause.”

“Why?” asked Idri. She had been fiddling with the edge of her paper for a bit since, and only rose into attention when ‘harm on people’ had been brought up. “What reason do they have for whatever they’re doing?”

“That, I am afraid I cannot answer.” Teyrhar sighed. “I am sorry.”

Cali straightened up in her seat and gently set down her teacup. “How might we identify the members of the cult? The three that were disposed of wore simple gear. They dressed how adventurers or enthusiasts would dress.”

He shook his head once more. “That is another difficulty. The few of the cult’s members that had been identified recently were dressed in all manner of attire. Unlike other gods, Aevalin Xerxes does not hold his worshippers to a uniform standard. He only encourages those with a connection to him to carry an item on their person relating to time: a watch, an hourglass, or even more obscure ones like candles—as long as it may be connected to it. Even then, it is not strictly required. In all other aspects, they are free to dress how they wish, and they use this to don the guise of any normal citizen.”

“Looking no different from the common folk makes it nearly impossible to distinguish a cultist from a layman,” observed Raoul, his eyebrows furrowing in mild irritation. “The connecting item’s the best and only option.”

“That’s a flimsy tie-in, though,” Avil posed. “It just makes anyone who’s conscious of time suspicious. Even you wear a watch, Raoul.”

He craned his head down and chuckled, scratching his head. “You’re right. It’s nearly worthless.”

Teyrhar ‘hmm-ed’, melancholily running his hand down the handle of his pewter staff. “I was only able to determine the three we fought as members of Misericorde for the simple reason that they didn’t hesitate to blurt it out. This particular instance was most likely an unsanctioned attack, one that came about purely from their desire to seize this holy site for their god, not considering whether Aevalin Xerxes may even want it in the first place. And as we witnessed, even mere cultists are able to wield Time as a Divinitas to their advantage. Gods do not often give out their power so haphazardly. Ropin Masga does not take kindly to interfering in matters between mortals and will carry out retribution.”

“‘Mere cultists’ implies they’re not that high ranking up. I’m not familiar with the inner workings of cults nor their hierarchies, but there’s gotta be at least a rigid structure that they follow. We scraped the bottom of the barrel with this one.”

Raoul continued. “Either Aevalin Xerxes really isn’t giving out that much power to be noticed, or it’s that the Judge of the Divine can’t stop him. Nonetheless, I’ll admit it’s worrying that they’ve been getting more active.”

Idri grinned. “But that won’t stop you or us, will it?”

“Of course not,” Raoul huffed, crossing his arms. “Just that it’ll probably be a bother if we run into more cultists while we’re on the move.”

“You four are heading to the immortal city of Vonas soon, yes?” asked Teyrhar. “That is both good and bad. There has been talk of Misericorde activity in the area there, so I have no doubt you will encounter them. However, you do not need to concern yourselves with dealing with the cult. Leave that up to those who are suited to the job, and only engage should they attempt to directly interfere with you.”

Avil nodded in agreement. “That’s fine by me. As far as I’m concerned, they’re just an extra player that shouldn’t have any weight in our decisions.”

“We shall get through it, cult or not, Master Avil.” Cali added, wiping a bit of tea on his lips before he could pull back and ablute himself. He frowned at the babying, but she ignored it and continued. “May we focus on reaching the city before worrying about the cult or anything else?”

Raoul concurred “Cali’s right. We’ve got two days left in terms of walking, so we can contemplate on the revelations.” He then turned to Teyrhar. “Thank you for this, Teyrhar. You’ve been a great help for us.”

“And you four to me. Will you four stay a little while longer before continuing? Rushing too far headlong will not allow you to savor the finer and slower things in your lives. Vonas will wait. Your experiences will not.”

The four of them turned to each other. There was no dissent in their faces. Teyrhar likely rarely saw people in or around Kilaantin, and given his position in guarding the holy site, he was likely a little lonely. An extra hour or two wouldn’t kill anyone. In the end, Idri was the first to reply with a raised hand.

“Of course!”